


These Small Beginnings

by AngelaSnape



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelaSnape/pseuds/AngelaSnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville solves a mystery.  Or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Small Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alisanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/gifts).



> Written for Fall Fantasia, 2008

Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was trying to solve a mystery. Well, two mysteries, actually. The first involved his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ , which had developed a rather large, purple boil near its base. None of the standard Herbology texts even covered the unusual plant, and Madam Pince had been unable to locate any texts that did focus on it. The search had led Neville to the second mystery, the new rare bookshop in Hogsmeade. Called The Sneaky Scroll, it was open at odd hours, and between Neville’s class schedule and required after-hours patrols, he hadn’t made it inside the new shop yet. 

Neville volunteered to chaperone the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, although he’d done it the previous time, in the hope that he’d get his chance to visit the village’s newest business establishment. After the usual admonishments to students about behaviour and not overloading their pockets at Honeydukes, Neville set off for The Sneaky Scroll. It would soon be Hallowe’en; the sky was clear and the air was cool and crisp. Neville enjoyed his walk down Hogsmeade’s main street, before rounding the corner that would bring him to his destination.

The Sneaky Scroll was located across the street from the Hogs Head, so Neville decided to drop in on Aberforth first and see if his old friend knew anything about the bookseller. He perched on a stool at the bar, sipping at a butterbeer – it wouldn’t do for him to have firewhisky on his breath when he was supposed to be supervising students – while he waited for Aberforth.

“Neville, it’s good to see you. How goes the teaching this year?” Aberforth was wiping a grimy-looking glass with a grimier-looking towel – another good reason to have chosen butterbeer, which came in its own bottles.

“Quite well, thanks. It seems easier this year, now that I’ve done it once. I’m actually working on updating the curriculum this time. Last year I just used Professor Sprout’s notes.” Neville drained his butterbeer before asking, “What can you tell me about The Sneaky Scroll?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. The owner hasn’t been seen around town. He keeps to himself, and lives in rooms at the back of the shop.” Aberforth set the glass he’d been polishing on a shelf, and proceeded to wipe down the top of the bar.

“Well, I’m hoping he has a book that will help me cure my _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ , or knows where I could possibly find one. I’ll see you again, Aberforth.” With that, Neville slid off his stool, and pushed out through the Hogs Head’s swinging door. Neville blinked at the sunlight after being in the dimly lit pub. He looked over at The Sneaky Scroll, and crossed the street.

The door to the Sneaky Scroll creaked on its hinges as Neville opened it. Inside, the shop was a warren of shelves, each one full of old, leather-bound books. There didn’t seem to be a particular sorting system, either, so Neville headed towards the back of the shop in search of the owner. He rounded the end of the last bookshelf, and collided with a solid body.

“Oops, sorry mate,” Neville exclaimed, and then gasped as he looked up into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

The owner of those eyes had silvery scar tissue on his cheek, and dark auburn hair that flowed past his shoulders. An earring dangled from his left ear.

“Bill?”

* * *

When his wife left him, taking his children with her, Bill Weasley had retreated inside himself. For months, he stayed hidden away at Shell Cottage, refusing to see anyone. One day, though, an advert in the Daily Prophet had caught his eye:

>   
>  _The Wizarding World’s largest collection of rare books – everything must go! The perfect opportunity to add to your library, or start your own business…_   
> 

He’d seen the opportunity of the bookshop as a way of starting over, and the goblins had been happy to front him the Galleons required to purchase the property in Hogsmeade. While setting up shop, Bill had opened sporadically, just to gauge the interest of local shoppers. He’d had a few customers, and made a few sales, and now he’d opened for his first Saturday - a Hogsmeade weekend Saturday, bound to attract those Hogwarts students of a more studious nature, and perhaps some professors, too.

Bill hadn’t installed a bell on the door yet, but the squeaky hinges and his acute hearing meant he would still hear if someone entered the shop. He’d been in a stock room behind the cash register when the door squeaked, and went out to greet the first customer of the day. He didn’t make it too far before bumping into the man, nearly knocking him down in the process.

The other man appeared to be about his brother Ron’s age, with hazel-green eyes and sandy blonde hair. 

“Bill?” 

At his customer’s recognition, Bill looked a little more closely at the younger man.

“Neville Longbottom? Or isn’t it Professor Longbottom now?” Bill smiled, and offered his hand in welcome.

Neville grasped his hand and cleared his throat before continuing. “Please, call me Neville.”

Bill glanced down at their joined hands, causing Neville to flush crimson. He dropped Bill’s hand as if it had burnt him.

“Well, then, Neville… what can I do for you today?”

“I’m looking for a book on _Mimbulus mimbletonia_.”

“Interesting plant. Come, let’s go to the back and have a look at the inventory catalogue. I am still working on organizing all the books in a way that makes sense, so that should be our best bet.”

Bill gestured Neville towards an empty chair and waved his wand at a heavy-looking book and chanted, “ _Locus Mimbulus mimbletonia._ ” The book opened, the pages fluttering back and forth for a few moments before stopping at a page near the middle.

Bill scanned the page, and told Neville, “It looks like there is one book among all these that deals with your plant. Unfortunately, it’s going to take me a few days because I haven’t unpacked everything yet. When do you need it?”

“As soon as possible, I’m afraid. I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, and after all these years, I don’t want to lose it.” Neville looked a little grim – the unusual plant had been with him so long, it was like family.

“Tell you what: as soon as I find it, I’ll bring it round to you at Hogwarts.”

Neville stood, and said, “All right, then, Bill. I’d better go start rounding up students now, so I’ll see you in a few days.” 

With that, Neville was gone, even though he – and very likely Bill – knew that the students still had a whole hour before they had to return to Hogwarts. Bill chuckled, and returned to the stock room.

* * *

Just after dinnertime, Monday evening, the Floo connection in Neville’s personal greenhouse crackled to life. 

“I had a feeling I would find you there, Neville,” said Bill’s flickering image. “I found the book – shall I come through?”

Neville agreed, and a moment later, Bill was standing in front of him, brushing ashes from his shoulders. He handed Neville a slim volume that looked more like someone’s old journal than a reference book.

“Thanks, mate. How much do I owe you?” 

“On the house. It’s the least I can do for the man who killed Nagini,” Bill grinned.

“You must let me give you something for it,” Neville insisted.

“Then, how about having dinner with me Friday night?” Bill suggested.

Neville blushed – he seemed to be doing that a lot lately – but he accepted Bill’s invitation, and they made plans to meet at Bill’s shop. Once Bill had left again, Neville began flipping the pages of the book, eager to learn more about his sick plant.

The rest of the week passed quickly, with class preparations and work in the greenhouse occupying much of Neville’s time. Neville had learnt that his prized plant wasn’t sick after all. According to the book – which had turned out to be a journal, after all, kept by a seventeenth century Herbologist named Demeter Roote who’d been the leading expert in _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ of her time – it was getting ready to reproduce, and the purple boil would eventually bud off as a new, miniature version of its ‘parent’. The purple colour came from the nourishing fluid that surrounded the embryonic plant.

Friday afternoon came, and Neville’s last class seemed interminable. The fourth-year Hufflepuffs were harvesting bubotuber pus, and so far, nobody had got it on their skin, thank Merlin. When the hour ended without so much as a pimple being raised, Neville quickly dismissed his students, and went to prepare for dinner.

In his quarters, Neville shed his robes, taking care to avoid any spots of bubotuber pus that had been splattered on them. It wouldn’t do to show up for dinner with a raging boil on his skin. He showered and performed a shaving charm while trying to ignore the flutterby bush that had taken up residence in his abdomen. He dressed in simple maroon robes, checked his appearance in the mirror one last time, and set off for Hogsmeade.

The castle corridors were quiet, as everyone else was in the Great Hall eating dinner. Neville was glad to have a few more moments to himself before meeting with Bill. He was surprised at how nervous he was. It felt almost as if he was going on a first date. _It’s just dinner with a friend_ , Neville kept repeating to himself. Once he reached the gates, he Apparated directly to The Sneaky Scroll’s front door.

* * *

Bill had been anticipating his dinner with Neville all week. He hadn’t felt like this since… well, he hadn’t actually felt like this before. Fleur had pulled him in with her Veela charms, but Bill now realised that there had been little else between them. Neville was… special; he was shy and yet confident, especially when you got him talking about Herbology. Bill’s inner wolf was sending him towards Neville in a way that made Fleur’s attractiveness seem nonexistent.

After spending most of Friday unpacking more books, and working on his cataloguing system, Bill was covered in dust from head to toe. He stripped off his robes and grimaced at himself in the mirror. For all her talk of being beautiful enough for the both of them, Fleur had been repulsed by his disfigurement. By the time she left for France, they hadn’t made love in several months. Bill sighed as he turned the taps on full blast, and ducked under the shower for a brief and unsatisfying wank. 

A quick scrub and shampoo later, Bill dressed in dark green silk shirt and snug-fitting black trousers. He dried his hair with a charm and tied it back with a leather strap, then replaced his fang earring with a simple silver hoop. Satisfied that this was the best he could do without casting a Glamour, he made his way through the books to the front of his shop, and opened his door just as Neville arrived.

“Hullo, Neville,” Bill said as he offered his hand. “How’s the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ doing?”

Neville shook Bill’s hand, remembering to release it this time. “It’s fine, actually. More than fine – it isn’t sick at all. It’s getting ready to reproduce.” 

“Really? I’d love to come see that. Do you know when the happy event might occur?” Bill encouraged Neville, hoping to make him feel comfortable and relaxed for their dinner. He’d sensed a bit of nervousness in the younger man when he first opened the door.

“Some time in the next week, I think. Madam Roote’s journal indicates that a full germination period for _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ is about three months, and the gestation boil started growing just after my birthday. That puts the arrival right around Hallowe’en.”

As Neville paused for breath, Bill asked, “So are you ready for dinner? I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long time since lunch, and I could probably eat an Erumpent whole right about now.”

“I’m hungry too. Where are we going?” Neville asked. “Am I all right in robes?”

Bill scanned Neville’s tall, lean form with an appraising eye, and nodded. “You look great. I normally only wear robes for Ministry functions, and I hardly ever attend those anymore.”

The pair Apparated to Diagon Alley, where Bill had made reservations for them at Tutto Buon Cibo, a new Italian restaurant that Neville had not yet been to. They were seated in a corner booth with a candle flickering inside a glass jar. A red-and-white checked tablecloth completed the setting.

Bill ordered a bottle of Chianti to share, and both men ate hearty portions of pasta. As the meal progressed, the wine and good food helped Neville to relax, and the conversation flowed freely between them.

“…and after I killed that damn snake? It was if I’d swallowed some kind of love potion or something. All of a sudden I was getting owls at all hours of the day and night, carrying proposals, flowers, and even a lacy red thong.” Neville paused to drain his wineglass.

“Well, you were as instrumental in Voldemort’s defeat as Harry was. If Harry hadn’t already been all but engaged to my sister, he would have had the same kind of attention.”

Bill emptied the last of the wine into Neville’s glass, and signalled the waiter, who brought the dessert trolley. Bill chose a decadent-looking tiramisu, while Neville opted for a slice of pumpkin pie. Cappuccinos topped off their meal.

“Harry did, to a similar extent. He just hid it from Ginny,” Neville continued.

“Smart man.” Bill smiled at that, as an image of Ginny’s reaction to Harry receiving a lacy red thong from an unknown admirer popped into his head.

Neville chuckled. “Yes. Well, anyway, it wasn’t so much the attention I was getting as the, er, nature of the attention.”

“Oh? How so?” Bill asked, though he’d begun to suspect that Neville wasn’t interested in the women who’d sent him gifts – or any women, for that matter.

The restaurant had filled with patrons while they’d been eating, and Neville’s shyness seemed to be returning with the latest turn of their conversation, if the diminishing volume of his voice said anything. Lucky for Bill, his hearing was excellent; more so since Greyback’s attack. 

“One of the things I’ve come to realise since leaving school was that I’m not like most other men.” Neville sunk back into the booth with a sigh. He felt really comfortable around Bill, but Harry was the only other person who knew that Neville was gay, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to come out to Bill yet.

“You mean… you prefer men?” Bill prodded. It wasn’t common knowledge that the eldest Weasley son was bisexual, but Bill had had several affairs with men while he’d been living abroad.

Neville blushed a little, though the wine had already put a flush in his cheeks. He nodded at Bill, rather than risking stammering out his response.

Bill signalled their waiter once more, and settled their bill, refusing to allow Neville to contribute towards the payment. “You can get it the next time, Neville.”

Neville’s heart began racing at the thought of another dinner date – because it really had felt more like a date and less like dinner with a friend – with Bill. He suggested they take a walk before attempting to Apparate, considering they’d finished not one, but two bottles of Chianti.

They made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, and crossed into Muggle London. For the first few minutes, they walked in a comfortable silence. As they neared the Thames, the crowds – tourists, mostly, Neville thought – got thicker, forcing them to walk closer together. When their hands brushed – accidentally – Neville startled at the jolt of magical energy that sparked between them. Bill grabbed his hand, pulling him into an alleyway. The next feeling Neville had was the familiar pull of Apparition.

Neville didn’t recognise the room they arrived in. He presumed they were in Bill’s living quarters at The Sneaky Scroll. He tried letting go of Bill’s hand, but instead found himself pushed against the nearest wall. 

Bill nipped at Neville’s ear before nuzzling his neck and drawing in a deep breath. Neville’s scent was an earthy combination of soap and masculinity, and Bill detected a lingering hint of sandalwood that must have been from Neville’s aftershave. He groaned before covering the younger man’s lips with his own. Neville kissed him back hesitantly at first, before parting his lips to allow Bill inside.

Neville had dated infrequently since leaving Hogwarts, and not at all since returning as a professor, and never had he felt this way just from snogging. His cock was already half-hard, and Bill hadn’t gone near it yet. He cupped the back of Bill’s neck with one hand, releasing the glorious auburn hair from its strap with the other. Neville carded his fingers through the silky strands before trailing his hands down Bill’s muscular back.

Bill cupped the sides of Neville’s face as his tongue explored Neville’s mouth. Neville tasted of cappuccino and garlic, and Bill felt a sudden urge to taste all of him. Quick fingers attacked the buttons on Neville’s robes and then moved to his trim waist, making swift work of his belt buckle and zip. 

Bill trailed a series of damp kisses down Neville’s neck as his hands slid under Neville’s shirt, tweaking both nipples before returning to his waist. He gave Neville a quick kiss on the lips before dropping to his knees.

“Er… Bill?” Neville questioned. He was still a little breathless from kissing Bill, but one thing was for certain: whatever Bill wanted to do, Neville was willing to try it.

“Hush, love. Just lean back and relax.” Bill’s voice had roughened, desire obvious in the growly undertones.

Neville’s trousers had somehow ended up pooled around his ankles – he couldn’t remember them falling – and were soon followed by his pants. As Bill watched, Neville’s prick went from half-mast to full alert, and when the first bead of pre-come leaked out of the tip, he darted his tongue out, tasting it. Neville hissed, and his breathing grew ragged under Bill’s ministrations. He gasped when Bill licked the head, and thought he’d pass out when Bill engulfed him to the root. With one hand, Neville held on tight to the nearest object – a bookshelf – and allowed his free hand to return to Bill’s fiery mane.

Bill pulled back slowly, until just the crown of Neville’s prick was still in his mouth, and swiped his tongue over the sensitive head before burying his nose in the sandy curls at its base and inhaling deeply. He sucked and licked, moving slowly until Neville’s hips began to thrust, matching his rhythm, and increasing speed.

Neville felt his bollocks tightening, and tried to warn Bill by pulling at his hair, but Bill only sucked harder, faster, until he was swallowing every last drop of the bitter fluid.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Neville gasped, pulling Bill up for a kiss. “Where’s the bedroom?”

* * *

Neville missed out on attending the Hallowe’en feast that year. When he returned to his personal greenhouse after classes that afternoon, he saw that the gestation boil on his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ had lightened in colour, and had started to undulate – a sure sign that the arrival of the baby _Mimbulus_ was imminent. He sent a quick owl to Bill, who wanted to be present for the event, and referred to Madam Roote’s journal to see if there were any special preparations necessary.

Preparing for the – birth was the best word for it, Neville supposed – was relatively simple. A pot and some damp soil was all Neville needed to have ready once the gestation boil ruptured. He took a seat on an old bucket he’d transfigured into a stool, and settled in to wait.

The shadows had grown longer on the greenhouse floor when the sound of booted footsteps signalled Bill’s arrival. “Am I too late?” Bill enquired, leaning down to brush a kiss against Neville’s cheek.

“Not at all. In fact, it looks like you’re just in time.” 

A small rupture had appeared in the gestation boil, which was now oozing purplish fluid. Thankful that it didn’t have the same stench as the plant’s usual secretions, Neville grabbed the pot he’d prepared, and knelt down before the plant. As he did, the size of the hole increased just enough to allow the new plant to slide out – roots first, naturally – and land in its new pot.

“Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

“Not really. I’ll leave a light on so that photosynthesis may begin.”

“Good. Come here… I’m hungry.” The look in Bill’s eyes told Neville that it was a good thing he’d had an extra scone with his afternoon tea, since he wouldn’t be getting supper any time soon.


End file.
